Song of the Siren
by LifexSins
Summary: Even after the death of Jigsaw, the game continues to be played by his young apprentice. Will she follow in his footsteps, or crash hard from inexperience. Review if you want Chapter four.
1. Key of Life

Chapter One

Key of Life

Cold. It was the first feeling he felt as he gained consciousness. He found himself lying on the freezing, hard floor. For a moment, the temperature made him feel like he was naked, and then coming to his senses realized he was, feeling no clothing on his body to save him from the cold. Looking around, he tried to determine his location, but the room was pitch dark, not even the least bit of light in sight, except for a tiny red glow, the kind you would see on a camera, hanging above on a ceiling corner.

Struggling through the darkness, he felt around the room's perimeter for some kind of switch to get the light on, but like the floor, the walls were solid and cold. So many questions were running through his mind. The last thing he remembered was getting back from the Halloween party and going to bed.

He walked back to where he had awoken and felt around for anything that could possibly help him. As he was searching, a surging pain erupted from his lower arms. His hands quickly flew to his area of pain to feel something odd. Reacting to the spot above his wrist, he could've sworn it felt like he'd been sewn up.

Staring at the computer screen, Amanda watched him squirm around the room like a rat in a cage. Her face was similar to a small child before Christmas, full of excitement and anticipation. This was a special game for her. It would be the first time she would play without John being there as her teacher. This game was all hers now, and even though she loved that idea, John's presence would truly be missed.

Her real father left her on her uncle's doorstep and went off to screw some chick just to be likely to dump her kid too. John was a true father; one who cared about her and taught her everything she needed to know. He'd saved her from the life of grief, pain, and suffering and offered her immortality. Gratefully accepting his guidance, she learned many things from him, and after his tragic death, went to follow in his footsteps. One of the happiest moments she'd ever experienced was slamming the door on that bastard Matthews, leaving him to rot with her superior's previous victims.

She came to realize the man on the screen grasp his arm in pain. The drugs she'd injected him with must have just have been wearing off. Leaning closer to the machine, she began watching her sick game. _Her _sick game… she liked that.

"Let it begin," she said with a grim smile.

The man grunted as he stumbled around the room with his searing arms. He'd never been so confused in his life. Why was he in this room? Who put him there? Why had they chosen him? He couldn't recall having any enemies. There were people who didn't like him of course, but not enough to do this. He went around the room wondering until his feet had hit something on the floor. Immediately he dropped, feeling around for the object. His fingers felt around a small item and lifted it up. On one side, he thought he could feel something like buttons, so instinctively he pressed one. The device kicked on, revealing a soft, sexy, feminine voice.

"Hello, Dustin, I want to play a game," the voice spoke. "I can see by the cuts that are on your arms that you like to play with a razor a little too much. Do you put those pathetic, little wounds on you because you want to feel pain or do you do it perhaps you want those kids at school to give you attention. I'll find out for myself in a few moments."

"Now about those stitches you undoubtedly feel on your arms. Each set contains the key to get you out of this room. Oh and do take that literally. Since you're use to penetrating yourself, this shouldn't be a problem, but remember only one will work on the door, so don't make a mistake. You will have thirty minutes to do this or that door will lock forever, leaving you to die days later that is unless you manage to bleed to death first. Let's see how much you value your life, Dustin. Let the game begin."

He was motionless for a moment, frozen in disbelief. Was this really for real? Looking at his stitches on his arms from the wrist up, he pondered on whether he should do what the tape said. The pain he felt when he was cutting was nothing compared to what it would feel like to have his arm ripped open, two if he made a bad choice. Then he would have to find a door in a room where he could barely see his hand in front of him.

Hesitantly and fearfully, Dustin placed his palm over the patch of stitches. It stung just to touch it, making him wonder what sadistic person would make him do this. He shivered getting a grip on a stitch and pulled it. An agonizing scream filled the room, echoing off the walls. Blood flowed rapidly where the stitch once was, warning that if the others weren't removed quickly, he would soon bleed to death.

Panting heavily, he ripped out stitch after stitch, increasing the painful yells and oozing blood. His left arm was now a huge gash with a pool of blood inside. Dustin dug through his arm looking for the key like it was a specific color in a bag of Skittles. It was the most painful experience of his life, ripping through his tissue for a fucking key. Through all the redness, Dustin could see as he held his wrist to his face, a glimmer of gold caught his eye. There buried a little further in his arm was the key.

Pulling the little shinny item out of his arm had been the worst part. Its jagged edge pulled at the tissue as Dustin tore it out of his skin. By the time he'd gotten it completely out, he had fell to the floor in tears, gripping the key tight in his hand. For a moment, it was as if he'd gotten a large dose of a bad drug, due to the serious loss of blood. There wasn't much time now. Where was the door?

Feeling every inch of the wall, he searched for a keyhole. His small amount of vision he had was starting to weaken do to the tears flooding his eyes. So much was on his mind that he'd nearly forgotten about the time. Figuring how long it'd taken him to get the key, he guessed he had around fifteen minutes left, which was not enough time in his opinion.

Then he felt it! He'd found what felt like a doorknob, and where there was a doorknob, there was a keyhole. Lifting the key up, he prayed to everything holy that it was the right one. The keyhole that was positioned right under the knob was just a regular key hole, but to Dustin's eye, it was the doorway to life. If he got out, he promised himself that he would never cut himself again. He'd go into the world reborn and live life to the fullest. This key would give him a new life. Dustin prayed to every god he knew of as he stuck the key in the hole.

He twisted…nothing. He twisted again… nothing.

"No!" Dustin screamed like he never had before, kicking and pounding on the door.

Sitting at her spot by the computer, Amanda watched the helpless teenager continue to struggle with the door, laughing a little at his ignorance. How stupid could he be to realize that the key would not work? She watched as he furiously beat the door with every last bit of strength he had left before collapsing to the ground in a crying fit. She wondered if he would go for the other arm or simply give up there.

"Such poor survival instinct," Amanda sighed, leaning back in her chair.

Moving to a new tactic, she reached across the computer desk and picked up a one-way radio. She'd discussed putting speakers in the room with John earlier, a new way of taunting or pushing the players a little further, and he had seemed to like it enough. After all, it was a new game that belonged to her, so why not change it up a little.

He sat Indian style on the floor gripping his arm tightly, trying his hardest to lessen the amount of blood he was losing. His bawling filled the room, as he came closer and closer to the realization of his death. Only did the sobbing pause when he heard a screeching noise in another corner of the room; just before the same voice he had heard earlier on the recorder began talking.

"I see you're not doing too well," she spoke. "Is it so hard to realize that you're about to die and to think that when you do it may be it, no afterlife or anything like that? You'll just be a corpse in a room forever. It disgusts me how humans can just toss their life away so easily. You should've known where that key was, Dustin. Your need to survive should've led you right to it, but you chose the wrong one. Now, I'll remind you that you have eight minutes left before that door locks. I'm being too generous to give you so much time for such a simple task. It's your last chance now, Dustin. Do you love life?"

The fatal message, the mysterious woman had left only sent Dustin into even more tears. She'd truly made him realize that this was it. In such a small amount of time of eight minutes, the fight for his life would end. It was enough of a push to make him consider going for the key. Could he survive if he got it? The massive blood loss in his left arm had already made him go lightheaded, and if he lost any more blood in his right, he would surely pass out and die. There was no choice. If he didn't get that key out of his arm the outcome would be certain death.

Without warning, Dustin went for his right arm, attempting to tear away the stitches as quick as he could. The gash on his left arm was making it almost impossible to put any strength into the pulls, causing the process to move much slower than the first. Screams once again echoed through the room as Dustin tore painfully until the last stitch was off. He began to dig in once again, but being overwhelmed by the pain, pulled back. He couldn't do it. It was too much. He reached in once more, attempting to make it through this time but once again failed. He was simply in too much pain to cause himself more.

"Five." Dustin's eyes widened. "Four."

"NO!"

"Three. Two."

He tried once more to get into his arm, but was met like sticking a hand in a hornets nest. Trying to get past the pain, he buried his fingers a little deeper and could feel the metal.

"Wait!" he yelled to the voice. "I got it!"

"One."

A loud click sounded behind him, as Dustin froze, hand buried in his arm. It couldn't be! No! With one final, excruciating yell, he ripped the key out of him and headed for the keyhole. Sticking the right key in, he twisted…nothing. It suddenly grew very cold as death entered the room with Dustin, pressing its icy lips against his body. Fear and paranoia was setting in as he settled himself in a corner of a room, hugging himself.

"And you had such a good chance, kid," Amanda spoke through the radio. "I offered you life, but you turned it away just like that. You played life like it was a game, and like a game there are winners and losers. We can't all be winners in life, so Dustin I have one last thing to tell you before I leave you here. Game over."

The brunette got out of the computer chair, proud of herself for ridding another ungrateful person of this world. Checking the fridge, she grabbed a soda and headed to her balcony. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, placing a stunning shadow over the landscape.

"I did well, John," Amanda smiled. "You would've been proud, and the great thing is I'm just warming up."


	2. Doctor No More

Chapter Two

Doctor No More

"Jigsaw's Spree of Torture Ends" was the headline flashing on the television screen, just under a newsman speaking of the incident. An older man sitting in his living room widened his eyes as the far too familiar name caught his eye and ears. Going for his crutches, Lawrence Gordon hurried over to the screen, getting as close as possible. A wide, smile spread across his face.

Jigsaw had been found! According to the news, his body had been discovered severely beaten. The man triumphed at the news bulletin and burst into a laughing fit. For weeks he'd been working sleepless trying to catch the man who ruined his life. Before awakening in that hell hole of a room, he'd had a sweet, promising life. He had his wife and child, a high paying job as a well respected doctor, and an exceptional reputation.

His enemy put a quick end to that. The hospital heard about his nightly visit to see a non-patient, and told him to take some time off. Also hearing of his stunt, Alison, his wife, had left him on the spot, taking her daughter Diana with her. He now spent his days in a crappy, apartment searching for any leads on Jigsaw, wanting nothing more than the man dead. If only he had been the one to kill him, he would've made sure he was put any much more pain than he obviously had been in. Regardless, Lawrence planned on meeting the one who took care of the bastard and congratulating him.

Leaving his place by the television, the one-legged man gripped his crutches and headed out his apartment door. He wasn't quite sure where he was headed, but what he did know was that it was wherever there was information about Jigsaw. Who killed him and why were they provoked to do so? Lawrence had many questions he wanted answered, and he wanted them answered soon.

Another familiar face to the good doctor was also watching the same news program, but this lovely face shared the exact opposite reaction to Gordon. Here the god damn media was treating her mentor like human scum, calling him a killer and many other filthy names. John had never killed a single person in his entire life. Amanda was in pure disgust with what she was seeing. Leave it to people, to take advantage of the story of a great, wise man and make it sick for their own nasty profit.

John was not a killer, he was a savior. Those people, his so called "murder victims", simply didn't want their life enough to be part of this world, so John showed them that. Before her own encounter with his strict teachings, she spent her days on heroin, practically dead to the world. John showed her life, how precious it was, and how people didn't appreciate what they had. The man changed her life, and now hearing all these people celebrate at the news of his death made her want to put them in the same mechanism she'd been in and force them to dig through another's body for a little key. She was purely sickened, but she had to remember John said it would be like this.

"Ignore them," he instructed her. "In the end, they will die undeserving, and you shall be immortal. You, my dear, are so grateful to have your life, so grateful that you would do whatever it takes to keep it. When I die, you will take my place and teach them how to appreciate what they have. Only you, Amanda, will know who is deserving."

A smile crept across her face after hearing his voice again, even if it was just a flashback. It was enough to get her to turn the television off and head back to her office. There were plenty of sketches she needed to finish, and several more ideas she needed to produce for her newest game. Picking up her pencil, she stared at the paper for a moment before becoming satisfied with a sudden thought and began sketching.

The bar was slow that night, not nearly as busy as it was on a normal day. Kerry wasn't sure what was so special about this one as she took another drink of her beer. Feeling a lot less tight, she pulled the band out of her hair, letting the brown curls fall down the her shoulders. So Jigsaw was dead? There was no doubt in her mind Eric had killed him, but the real question was, where was Eric?

The last time she saw him, he'd left with the killer and headed for the house where Daniel was being kept. Only the thing was, the kid had been in the same room with them the whole time, locked in a safe. She'd lost radio contact with Eric soon after he entered the house and that was the last she'd heard from him. Teams had searched the house but found nothing at all. It was completely empty of any signs of life.

Even in death, the Jigsaw killer left her puzzled. Only he knew where Eric was and he obviously wasn't talking. She could only hope Eric had grown angry and was off alone somewhere in the city. If only he could know his son was okay, then he might come back but back to what? His secret had gotten out. Even though it came out of Jigsaw's mouth, everyone had realized that night what Eric had done, planting evidence to convict innocent people just so he could add another name to his reputation.

The bar televisions were all the same thing. Pictures of the sheet-covered body of Jigsaw being transported out on a gurney kept being run constantly, only revealing his mutilated face. Kerry barely recognized him as the man they had hostage only last night. Even though he was a terrible man, what Eric had done to him was horrible on his part and reflected on his career as a detective.

It was still a relief to know the investigation was over. She's spent what had seemed like all her career on this case. Her mind had focused on it for so long that it was still all she could think about, even thought it'd been over for several hours. There would be no more getting up in the mornings wondering if they found another game room, no more brutal scenes of graphic violence from a sadistic mind, and no more spending every day dawn to dusk with Eric Matthews. Even with so many pieces of the puzzle missing, things felt so much easier to Kerry.

Taking one last drink, she finished her beer and tossed it in the garbage before leaving the bar. Walking out the door, she felt a sudden drop in temperature from the freezing streets. Hugging her sweater, she headed down the sidewalk for her car, not expecting to see a familiar face walk by. She knew his face but would not recall exactly who the crutched-man was until she was streets away in her car. It was Dr. Lawrence Gordon, the guy previously under suspicion of the killings… with one leg.

The city morgue was just a few buildings down as the crippled man staggered down the sidewalk. Lawrence was good friends with the manager there, seeing him at the hospital about once a week, and could only hope he would get some information out of him. Passing a woman on the way, he could've sworn she looked familiar, but right now she wasn't ringing a bell. Not worrying too much about it, he let the thought out of his head.

Gordon entered the doors to the morgue, heading down the hall to the office labeled Dr. Kirk Tate. A man sat at a desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper as he looked up at Lawrence. Taking off his glasses, he stared in awe, noticing his friend had lost a limb since the last time he'd seen him.

"Lawrence, what happened to you," Tate immediately rose from his desk.

"It's, uh, a long story," Lawrence sighed, balancing his crutches. "I wondered if you could do me a favor, Kirk. I was wondering if you had a body come in earlier."

"My friend, I've had many bodies come in earlier," Dr. Tate chuckled. "Perhaps, you could be a little more specific."

Lowering his head, Lawrence debated whether to say it or not, worried that Kirk would run him out of his morgue as soon as the name left his mouth. His voice dropped to a low and silent tone.

"Jigsaw."

Tate's smile faded quickly off his face, glancing to the back room. Biting the rim of his glasses, he knew that he wasn't supposed to give any information about the man to anyone, but he'd known Lawrence for a while and the man was logical. He had to have some kind of reason for wanting to know such a thing.

"Ah yes, John Kramer… well," Tate hesitated. "He was brought in several hours ago, dead of course. He'd been beaten very brutally, more than a man his age could take. Under oath, I cannot give you a name, but it was one of the detectives. They said his boy was in the game, so he took some drastic measures and there you have it, the end of Jigsaw."

Lawrence would try his hardest to get a name out of his friend, but Dr. Tate just couldn't say it at the fear of losing his job. If the media got a hold of it like they'd gotten everything else, it would be the end of him, so Lawrence was forced to leave with the only bit of information he could get. So it looked like ol' Jigsaw went a little too far with his game, as if he hadn't already, and made a big mistake. They called him the perfect killer. Lawrence scoffed at the thought. Jigsaw was anything but perfect. He was a sick bastard in his eyes, a sick, dead bastard.

It was very late, so the ex-doctor started back home, worn out from searching for a lost cause. Why worry anymore? The full story would be on the news in a few weeks knowing the media, who were running around town trying to get their hands on anything and everything. Maybe he could start life back up again, try to get another chance with Alison. Sighing he knew that was near impossible too. Heading up the elevator to his apartment, he figured things would start turning out okay. As long as there was no more Jigsaw, he figured his life would take a new turn.

In a downtown area, police had found something they never expected to see again. In an isolating room, under an abandoned house, a young man was found. The enormous amount of blood he was lying in and the ridiculously large cuts on his arms proved he had bled to death. In one of his hands, he clutched a key tightly, the key that could've saved his life if he'd gotten it only seconds earlier. The cops looked at each other puzzled.

"They found the guy last night, right?" one of them spoke. "Well, judging by his looks, this kid hadn't been in here but a few hours. Whoever they found last night did not kill this boy."


	3. Dead Man's Kill

Chapter Three

Dead Man's Kill

"You might want to look at this too," the cop pointed his flashlight at the small symbol carved into the kid's skin.

It was shaped like a puzzle piece, the same symbol Jigsaw carved into his victims after they failed their task. Something wasn't right though. Jigsaw had been dead for nearly twenty four hours now, yet this boy had died only a few hours ago, no more than three, and had likely been placed in the room shortly before that.

Staring at the pale corpse, one of the officers shook his head, trying to find some kind of exclamation. Jigsaw was dead, yet another one of his brutal games had gone on.

"Get this body examined," he ordered. "And make sure none of this gets out in the public until I get a full proven report of what happened. Call Kerry. I want her to look at this."

Far away from the sounds of the city was a little, brick residence was buried in the suburbs. Except for the sounds of crickets and the occasional barking dog, the area was silent, that was until the phone began screaming around midnight, soon after Kerry had finally been able to get some sleep. The blaring sound was not pleasing to the exhausted ear, leading the detective to brutally pick it up and snap.

"Whoever the fuck this is better have a goddamn good reason for calling!"

"Easy, Kerry," Rigg, a fellow cop, said though the other end. "If you're ticked off now, this is really going to blow your mind."

Could it really? Did she really need one more thing in her life to worry about now? Sighing she preparing herself for whatever news was about to be delivered.

"They found another body," Rigg continued. "And here's the twist if you haven't figure it out already, the boy was put in the room today."

Time stopped at the mention of those words. Kerry immediately sat up in the bed, clutching the phone tightly in a grip of rage. There was no way in hell that there could be another body. She'd seen it herself, the images of John Kramer being carried away from the crime scene, far from alive. The case was done, dead, closed, finished, so how in the fuck was there another body? Her trail of thought was broken by the cop.

"Is that a goddamn good reason for you?" he asked sarcastically. "They want you down at the station right now to check out this body. No excuses."

"I don't recall me being the one with the excuses, Rigg," Kerry bit back. "Just tell the bastards I'll be down there in an hour and no less."

Not in the mood for another smart ass remark, she slung the phone down on the hook and was right back out of bed again. Jesus Christ! Was she the only one who knew a damn thing about Jigsaw? Had there happened to be another person in the whole fucking city who wasn't finally able to get more than a few hours sleep? Kerry gave mercy to the poor son-of-a-bitch she would have to deal with when she got to the station, because hell was about to rain down on him hard.

After getting the proper attire, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Kerry left her house. Her new neighbor, who lived across the street seemed also in a hurry to get into hers. Kerry had to admit her face seemed familiar but couldn't hit the nail with the hammer. Honestly not caring, she got into her car and headed back to the city. If they wanted her in correct uniform, they would've called her in the morning. Going well over the speed limit, she drove into the city streets heading for the station downtown. The building was pretty luxurious compared to the lazy asses that worked there. Rampaging through the door, she headed for the backroom, shoving past anyone in her way.

On a slate in the middle of the room was the body of a kid. His face was pale and had stilled in a horrified state. Pulling off the sheet covering him, she got a look at his arms or what was left of them. Each one had an imperfect rip below the wrist, and just above was his crimson hands which had found their way into his arms. Another detective approached her, handing her the only evidence they had: two bloody keys. The puzzle wasn't hard to put together, even if the other idiots had yet been able to figure it out.

"So," one of the men asked. "What do you got?"

"Well, boys," Kerry looked up with a wide, mocking smile. "It looks to me like we got us another Jigsaw."

Lawrence had relaxed in his bed, attempting to get a night's sleep. It wasn't normal for his apartment to be cold, especially during the middle of the summer, but for some reason he was freezing. He got out of bed to check if the air conditioner was on which turned out to be a negative. Maybe it was his imagination or either he was getting a cold, something like that? Convinced his mind had wondered, he began walking back to his room to get back to sleeping. He turned into the doorway, but didn't quite make it into the room before he stopped dead in his tracks. There standing in the middle of the room, was Adam Faulkner.

… Or at least what had become of him. His skin was completely colorless and rotted in most parts. The corpse was wearing the same white shirt and shorts he'd had on the last time Gordon has seen him. His eyes were bloodshot red and were staring dead at Lawrence, full of anger and disgust.

"Are you going to just give up?" he scolded. "Let that bitch get away with everything?"

"Jigsaw's dead, Adam," Lawrence replied, fearing him. "And so are you."

"That's where you're wrong, Lawrence," Adam said shaking his head. "He's dead… but she isn't."

The crippled man gulped, staring at Adam. He'd promised him he'd go back for him with help, and if only he hadn't passed out, he would've known where to go back to. Successfully making it out of the house, he had gotten to the edge of the road before fading. The next thing he knew he was waking up in the same hospital he used to work in. The only thing he had learned was that a truck had driven by and noticed him there, not hesitating to get him help.

When Lawrence finally emerged from his trail of thought, Adam, or the thing that looked like him, had eerily vanished from the room. He recalled what he had told him… _but she isn't_. What did that mean? Not in the mood to sleep anymore, Gordon got all of his resources, his television and computer, turned on and began looking for any kind of information regarding to what Adam had told him.

Scratching her head, Amanda stared down at her newest sketch, obviously pleased. A small smile crept onto her face, pulling some folders in front of her. Flipping through the files, she looked over a series of faces, each one with their own problem. Leaning back in her chair, she tried to decide if she wanted to play one more practice or go on with the big game. She knew she was ready, but if she wanted to be as great as John, she would have to warm up a little.

"One more game should be enough," she said grabbing a different folder and selecting a particular picture. "I have more faith in you, my dear."

Amanda grabbed for a fearful looking mask that sat on the corner of her desk. Remembering the location of her person of choice perfectly, she left her house and headed for her driveway. As she got in her car, she noticed the woman across the street angrily getting in to hers also and quickly speed out of the driveway. Amanda was sure she remembered her from somewhere but couldn't figure it out. No matter, she had work to do. A few miles away lived the latest player of the game.


End file.
